


Once in a Blood Moon

by stuckinabottle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Illogical, M/M, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Slurs, Vampires, Werewolves, heat - Freeform, non linear, speciest attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1738496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckinabottle/pseuds/stuckinabottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Zayn drinks blood he nearly retches. It is so sweet on his tongue, but the struggle and cries of the person he bit make it turn foul and ashen in his mouth. He doesn't finish, refusing to drain the unsuspecting villager. Louis, his sire, laughs at him. Tells him he's weak and needs to work on his grit. He says this while sucking the blood of a young child. Zayn finds him distasteful. They didn't get on very well in the early years. But that was nearly a hundred and fifty years ago. And Louis and he haven't traveled together in years since his turning. </p><p>or Zayn's an angsty 170 year old vampire and Harry's a dumb, recently turned werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been reading a lot of Teen Wolf fics lately. I wanted to make my own trashy werewolf vampire fic. It even has a sappy cover to go with it.

 

The first time Zayn drinks blood he nearly retches. It is so sweet on his tongue, but the struggle and cries of the person he bit make it turn foul and ashen in his mouth. He doesn't finish, refusing to drain the unsuspecting villager. Louis, his sire, laughs at him. Tells him he's weak and needs to work on his grit. He says this while sucking the blood of a young child. Zayn finds him distasteful. They didn't get on very well in the early years. But that was nearly a hundred and fifty years ago. And Louis and he haven't traveled together in years since his turning. 

 

Currently, Zayn lounges in the darkest corner of some poorly lit club. The velvet red of the couch is worn and disgusting. Sticky with spilled drinks and more. He can feel the pulse of the club underneath his fingertips. He is drained, his next meal needs to be soon. That's when it hits him. A scent. It's a combination of dog but has undertones of honeysuckle. Zayn's never smelled something so delightful and pleasing wrapped up in something fairly disgusting. He inhales deeply and sighs. He will surely feed tonight. 

 

...

 

Harry knocks down another shot of moonshine. He slams the shot glass down on the bar surface. Surprisingly it does not shatter in his hand. He knows it will have no effect on him. He's been turned for nearly two years now. Liam his alpha is always off fucking around with some vamp. Ever since they moved into the new territory at least. Something about managing interspecies relations and whatever. Harry's pretty sure they're just fucking. At least Niall is there to keep him company. Although, being he is a spectre, he is tied to buildings typically. Harry carried a brick across the country to keep Niall with them. Niall's at home now though. Harry's not about to carry the brick with him when he's trying to get ass. 

 

He surveys the club. It's a pretty open club. At least that's what he's heard. Humans and non humans can get along and maybe even mingle with no trouble. His eyes glow briefly a golden hue before returning to their normal green. It's the full moon soon. His desire to mate is intensified. He feels any eyes that linger on him. Roving all over his tightly clothed legs. Tight black jeans and a shirt cut to bare most of his chest. His hair is slicked back and out of his eyes. He knows he looks good. He also knows there's a vamp in the club. He can sniff them out from a mile away. His nostrils curl at the smell. It's coppery and sharp, it smells like old blood. 

 

He pinpoints the source, it’s coming from the back corner, obscured from the regular observer’s line of vision. He just hopes it's a friendly. Or one of the territory's clan. Harry's not looking to pick any fights tonight. 

 

...

 

Zayn spots him. The were. He's loitering about at the bar. Looking around aimlessly. A couple times his eyes flash yellow. Was he bitten yesterday? Doesn't he know people can see when his eyes change? Zayn chuckles darkly to himself. He hasn't fought a were since the territory wars in the early twenty first century. But to sink his fangs into a were. How lovely it would be. The surge of power would be indescribable. Zayn has only ever heard rumors about it. He is pretty sure Louis had been sucking this one were dry for years. It would certainly explain a lot. But he doesn’t ask questions. Frankly he doesn’t want to know. All he knows is that were's blood is special and their blood supply regenerates much faster than humans. 

 

The were knows he is here, clearly. What with the way his head lifts to scent the air, or how his eyes linger much too long on Zayn's corner of the room. Zayn's mouth waters. His blood is so sweet smelling it nearly makes his stomach roil. The were looks his direction again, eyes golden in the dim lighting of the club.  If Zayn tries hard enough he can pick out his heartbeat. Slow and steady. The were leaves the bar and begins making his way towards the roped off area.  

 

...

 

"You smell like wet dog," says a voice, it's smooth like warm melted chocolate. The accent is strong. The tone careless. 

 

"Sucked anyone dry recently?" Harry clips. He crosses his arms defensively. He can't see the vamp, still in the shadows. The vamp chuckles low and deep. Harry shivers against his will. The hairs at the back of his neck stand up. There’s something strange about this whole interaction. Why he even felt the need to come over and investigate. It is as if his feet led him here of their own accord.

 

"Wouldn't you like to know? I take back the wet dog comment…you smell more like a bitch in heat. Trying to find someone to mount you?" Harry flushes all over, his face heating. He tugs at the hem of his shirt. He despises dog jokes. His claws itch their way out. The vamp just laughs at him. The worst part is he can’t even see his face.

 

"Are you one of Liam's? I'm not here to fight you so you can put the claws away." 

 

"Liam is my alpha, yeah. What about it?" 

 

"Let's just say if I wanna keep my head on my shoulders I won't touch you in any way you wouldn't want me too." Harry sees a glint of fangs in the dark. He steps back. He feels a little in over his head. 

 

...

 

Zayn gracefully floats from the couch and cages the were against the closest wall. He inhales the smell, burrowing his nose into the crook of the were's neck. "So, you gotta name?" he asks after running his tongue down the length of the were's jugular. His skin is hot to touch and the were visibly shudders. Zayn relishes in this. The hunt. His prey squirming and shivering in his hands. 

 

"What do you think you're doing?" the were's voice comes out shakey. Zayn scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth against the were's jugular. It's a heady feeling, being this close. He can feel the were's heartbeat, hear the blood rushing through his entire body.

 

"You didn't tell me your name."

 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Zayn snorts.

 

 "It's Harry,” the were grits out. Zayn traces his Adam’s apple as it bobs up and then down again.

 

"Zayn," he replies. He fangs long to sink into Harry's neck. He's so close. He feels Harry's clawed hands press against his chest. So Zayn locks his arms. 170 year old vampire is definitely stronger than this nubile were even if he hasn't fed for weeks. 

 

"Let me 'mount' you. I'll give you what you want. In exchange for some of that precious blood of yours," he croons. He feels Harry shudder in his arms. His eyes are golden, Zayn can sense the blood rushing in his body. The tremoring heart beat. It’s amusing. He has not had to work this hard for a meal in some time.  

 

...

 

Harry's skin is suddenly too tight, it's hot. Which doesn't make sense because the vamp's body temperature is significantly lower than his, cold even. His body pressed flush against Harry’s own. He stares into the vamp's dull eyes. They're dark, hooded by obscenely long eyelashes. He's strangely beautiful. His skin is smooth, only disturbed by scruff and stubble. Harry's is less afraid than he should be. 

 

"I can give you what you need," the vamp's tongue flicks out and catches the shell of Harry's ear. Harry feels his resolve cracking. It's been too long. He knows if he doesn't mate, he will have to be chained up for the next lunar cycle. His heat cycle. He hates that. 

 

"Fine. But fuck me first. I don't want to feel all tired you know," Harry mutters as quickly as possible. His words are rushed and his face heated. But he knows the fire that comes with his heat will be far worse than any embarrassment now. He has never felt so much shame in his life. Stooping to ask a vampire to have sex with him. How have his options dwindled so. 

 

But he knows the real reason. The humans can’t satiate his needs or at least that’s what he tells himself. They're too fragile, Harry's afraid his partners might break. The vamp draws back suddenly, he pulls Harry's hand into his own cool grasp.

 

"What do you take me for a heathen? Mine's not too far from here," the vamp explains, "I assure you you'll be much more comfortable there." Harry lets himself he dragged out of the club. He feels sort of numb. Buzzing with excitement and this dizzying sense of exhilaration. This vamp is old, he could rip Harry's throat out at any minute, it's thrilling. 

 


	2. The Real Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Zayn met Louis...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in the past. Before Zayn was a vampire. In this fic I'll be alternating between past and present. Point of view doesn't not switch in this chapter however. It only will switch in the present. 
> 
> Louis is villainized a bit.
> 
> :)  
> See end notes for more details about historical information presented in the chapter.

_150 years ago_

 

It is just another day in the village. Zayn is bored but this is not anything out of the ordinary. With great misfortune, he parted ways with his cousin and their family a few weeks prior. Ever since then there has been nothing to do. Zayn's father moved to England to for an apprenticeship many years ago. Moved was a debatable term. However, it was here that Yaser fell in love with the daughter of his master. The marriage of course was not approved, but they still wed. Zayn has heard his mother tell the story countless times. The village is not much of a village. But many of the Pakistani and South Asian migrants found it easiest to live here in the outskirts of the city.

 

Zayn's not terribly fond of this life. Not that he has ever known another. His sisters don't quite understand it though. They're not working. They live at home. Zayn expects Doniya will marry soon. Zayn has been bouncing from occupation to occupation for some time now. Zayn's first day at his blacksmith apprenticeship did not go as smoothly as it could have. Apparently his master took Zayn's silence as a sign of his inability to speak English. Which in fact he does quite well. Zayn is also pretty positive his reading ability is significantly higher than that of his master. Although, it is quite possible that after brooding for close to nine hours in the sweltering shop, he might not have a master. His father is not going to be pleased one bit. So rather than making the few kilometer trip back to the village, Zayn walks towards town. He's nearly entering twenty first year, has the beginnings of a beard. He's not ever been to taverns.

 

The walk from the forge takes him until dusk. The sun is setting. Even though it is late summer it has been unusually cool in the evening. Zayn shrugs his arms around himself. A nice ale might warm him up. The tavern door creaks loudly when he opens it. There's a putrid smell that has permeated the entire room. He feels the eyes of the tavern's patrons on him observing and scrutinizing as he walks towards the bar. The bartender does not look to keenly at him. He rears back slightly as Zayn approaches.

 

"We don't serve your kind in 'ere," says the bartender, and then spits on the floor. Zayn sighs. On a good day some people cannot tell he is part Pakistani. Today is not one of them. The summer sun has made his skin a golden brown. Most English folk don't tan terribly well. He hears a few snickers from nearby. A deep resentful sort of feeling brews in his gut.

 

"I am a paying customer," he says firmly, placing his palm on the bar. The surface is sticky underneath.

 

"It does not much matter. That's the tavern law," the bartender says gruffly. He won't even look Zayn in the eye at this point. More extended silence. Zayn does not move from his seat at the bar struck with a flare of outrage. He takes a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly in an attempt to temper his anger.

 

"I'll pay for his drink, I'll even pay double. Hell I'll even buy this damned shit hole," calls a clear voice. Zayn, startled, glances over to the corner. A shorter man, probably around Zayn's age, steps out from the shadows. He looks completely out of place in the seedy tavern. His outfit has the frills of some higher ranked nobles. However there is something amiss about him. His eyes are unnaturally red. And his hair is a complete mess. His robes are a dark shade of scarlet. He advances towards the bar with calculated and efficient movements.

 

The bartender looks startled as well, frightened even. He nods his head fervently, "Yes, of course, mi'lord." He bows slightly. The rest of the patrons turn their attention back to their own ales. The lord walks closer and scrutinizes Zayn carefully. His eyes trail over Zayn’s body. Zayn shivers. There is something very off about this man. He can feel it in his stomach.

 

"Name, what's your name boy?" he asks, as if he is much older than Zayn. He cannot be much more than twenty five though, Zayn decides. And that’s a stretch. He has no wrinkles and he has got this youthful sort of energy about him.

 

"Zayn."

 

"You have a last name?" he smiles, his teeth are very white.

 

"Malik, Zayn Malik."

 

"King? Strange how appearances can be, oh so, deceiving. Isn’t it? I'm the Duke of Yorkshire descended from the great Tomlinson blood line. Louis is my preferred namesake,” he nods. His hair falls in front of his face slightly. He whisks it away with a flick of his head. Zayn is puzzled for a moment. Not many Englishmen know Arabic.

 

"What do you want?" Zayn asks. “My lord,” he quickly tacks on at the end. The bartender serves him his ale. Half of the liquid splashes onto the counter before it makes it way to Zayn. Zayn is sure the man would be grumbling had the Duke not tossed a sack of money on to the bar. Zayn doesn't take the drink though. He was not born yesterday. This seems like a trap.

 

"What ever do you mean? I am just helping a friend out. Truthfully, I like to see how my people are. Coming to places such as these helps me." Louis sniffs for a moment and his nostrils flare.

 

"We're not even in Yorkshire. You have no jurisdiction here," Zayn says quietly. Zayn feels massively uncomfortable now. At least he hasn't accepted the drink.

 

"You seem wiser than most," Louis muses to himself. He sits down on the stool adjacent to Zayn’s. "Tell me about yourself. My sources say you live in a village nearby.”

 

“Then your sources will also tell you I do not treat well with strangers that I meet in taverns,” Zayn counters. He should have surely left by now. The prickling feeling of fear is working its way through his entire body. There is something very amiss about the Duke. Unnatural even. Zayn cannot quite put his finger on it.

 

“Some nobles might have your tongue if you spoke that cheekily to them,” the Duke smiles, all white teeth. Zayn’s stomach drops. He prepares himself to apologize profusely. “I on the other hand appreciate a bit of bravery. It makes life a little more interesting.”

 

“So, Mr. Malik, what are your dreams? Is there anything in life that you strive for?” The Duke flicks some dust off of his shoulder.

 

"It does not much matter what my aspirations are, my station in life is already set," Zayn admits. It tastes acrid on his tongue, the truth. However, the Duke seems to like this answer and he presses closer to Zayn, leaning in. He places a hand on Zayn’s shoulder. It’s unnaturally cool. Zayn flinches away but the hand remains. The Duke smile only seems to grow wider. He lets out a hearty sigh and leans back into his own space for which Zayn is extremely thankful.

 

"I have a proposition, more of a proposal really. I am in need of a traveling companion, shall we call it. I would like someone intelligent, well spoken, you seem both. I am soon completing a tour of the Indies. Taking care of some business really. Of course I do not necessarily need one, a companion that is. It would be nice though, it does get quite boring on ships.  The benefits of this arrangement would far more profit you than me. Perhaps you should think of the offer as a gift, from someone who has your best interest in mind."

 

Zayn stares at the worn wood of the bar. To leave England has always been something he had wanted to do for as long as he could remember. He does not trust this Duke Tomlinson one inch however. He retracts his grip on the bar. He nods his head grimly at the Duke whose has a inscrutable expression on his face. Zayn bites his tongue though. There is nothing more to say. He will not abandon his family for some strange man with the promise of a life. Especially, because said man is perturbing him beyond human belief. Zayn curtly stands up and stumbles out of the tavern before another word can be said. The cold air is damp, fog rising over the cobble stoned streets of the town. It is eerily quiet. Zayn pays it no mind and starts in the direction of his village. His pace is brisk and it doesn’t help that he feels the light patter of rain beginning. He thinks of his mother worrying and his father furious and presses forward.

 

He reaches the draw bridge that crosses over a stream. A shadowy figure stands on the bridge. Zayn slows his approach and treads lightly on the dirt path. Of course it turns out to be Duke Tomlinson, in his traveling cloak. Zayn stops in his tracks. Duke Tomlinson has a young boy’s body in his arms. The boy’s body is limp, one arm hanging loose, nearly trailing on the wooden planks of the bridge. Zayn rushes forward. His mother taught him some medicine, simple techniques really. Herbal remedies for colds, how to properly dress a wound. If anything he can help bring the boy to safety.

 

“Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Malik,” says Duke Tomlinson. His calmness and his blank stare alarm Zayn, but focusing on the task, Zayn checks the boy’s neck for a pulse. There is a faint heartbeat. He leans his ear over the boy’s mouth, but there is nothing. No air is coming out. There’s blood trailing from the neck of the boy. Some of it spills onto his fingers. It’s sticky and warm, he nearly recoils.

 

“I’m going to run and get help,” Zayn says weakly, “Apply pressure to the wound.”

  
“Do you really think they’re going to help you? Believe you?”

 

The words are like a slap to the face. Zayn abruptly stills. He wonders won’t they think that he is the one who killed the boy. Even though Zayn is sure it was an accident. Unless Duke Tomlinson killed him.

 

“What do you want?” he asks.

 

“I told you, just a traveling companion,” says the Duke after a moment.

 

“I don’t understand. Surely you could pick anyone.”

 

“No, Mr. Malik, I’ve been watching you for some time, and I think you will do just fine. To be honest, I don’t really think you have much of a choice in the matter. You’ll hang if you are convicted of this boy’s death. Either way you’re going to die, in one form of another. I offer you an opportunity however. An eternal one.”

 

“Are you mad?” asks Zayn after a moment.

 

But then, all of a sudden the Duke is gone. The boy’s body crumples to the ground. Zayn feels sick when he hears the crunch of a bone breaking against the bridge. Zayn attempts to move forward but finds that he cannot. He begins to panic, there’s an hand gripping his neck, a cold body pressed into his back. He thinks briefly about his mother and father, his sisters and feels an overwhelming ache, a pang of intense longing. More than anything he wishes he had not been so stupid. Surely, he is going to die now.

 

“I rather think this world is,” the Duke says thoughtfully. And then there’s a searing pain in Zayn’s neck. As if drunk, he collapses to the ground.The wood is rough against his cheek but he is unable to move, or speak. He sees the Duke’s’ look of mock concern. “Call me Louis by the way. We will be spending a lot of time together. You will know when to find me.”  His vision blurs and then there is nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stick around for more mature content in the next update.
> 
> In terms of clarification, I did some basic research on Pakistani migrant workers in the UK in the mid to late 19th century. Indeed there were many. Often they would take English wives because there were not many Pakistani women in England at the time. Obviously, a lot of the attitudes presented by the bartender and such are circumspect. I just pandered to be honest. Surprisingly, I could not find much on English mythology of vampires. *shrugs*


	3. The Foreplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets blown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some nice porn to make up for the shit one shot I posted yesterday which no one liked.

Zayn takes the were on a blistering pace back to his flat. He hasn't had sexual interest in anyone in a few decades, not since Perrie. The vixen had was not as been around ever since she had run off with that ghoul. Zayn was better off without witches. Besides their relationship had always been fairly cataclysmic. The ups and downs in it resulted in a few natural disasters. He is also pretty sure she had been trying to use his blood without his permission in her spells or something.

 

He looks over at his evening's meal. His eyes are glazed over, lips dewy. The were keeps licking them. It’s distracting. Objectively speaking he's not the most attractive person Zayn has ever been with, but there's something about him. The smell, yet it's more than that. He feels pulled towards the were, like a flower leaning towards the sun. It's instinctual and it frightens him. He hasn't felt anything other than numbness and an insatiable hunger in nearly a bicentennial. His companion is rather quiet, surprisingly. Harry certainly looks the type to talk quite a bit once you get him started.

 

“You live here?” comes Harry’s incredulous voice when they come to a stop in front of Zayn’s place.

 

“Yeah, what of it?” Zayn says. He’s gotten a lot of shit from people over the years for his choice in residence. He wouldn’t say it’s tasteless. Just a little eccentric. Call him old fashioned. He’s turning 170 soon, he should not have to deal with this shit.

 

…

 

Harry stares in amazement at the vamp--no Zayn’s home. It looks like it is a single level, ranch style house. More of a cottage than a house. Harry didn’t even know they made houses like this. It look liked a cottage straight out of some Grimm’s Faerie Tale book. Vines creeping up the side of the stone walled house. The roof nearly looks thatched. He reaches his hand out to trace a moss covered stone. One of the many that makes up the entryway.

 

“No, it’s just not what I expected. It’s so quaint.” Harry doesn’t look at Zayn. The whole situation here is a little embarrassing. Harry has been by this house before. He has lived in this town for the past few months. He likes to have a nice run every now and then. In wolf form of course, but so what. Somehow he had always expected some little old granny to live here all alone. Of course, he does not say this out loud. Somehow he does not think Zayn would be very keen to hear that.

 

“What, do you think I should live in some castle or something? I’m old, not dumb,” Zayn scoffs. Harry feels Zayn’s hand tighten around his wrist, imperceptibly so. Harry just shrugs. He is really not sure what to expect from this vamp at this point. He is towed into the little cottage.

 

Again, Harry is surprised when they cross the threshold of the house. The interior is fairly modern. “So…” he begins, spinning around the room once. “Do you do this often? Like, bring strangers home? How long have you lived here? I feel like I’ve never seen you before. Have you lived here for a while now?” Zayn just sort of stares at him, smolders actually. Harry has to give it to him, he has really got the brooding vampire thing down pat. What with the dark hair and tired, hungry look in his eyes. Harry’s happy to note that he’s not unnaturally pale though. Always a plus, looks plenty alive in Harry’s humble opinion.

 

“I thought you were in heat,” says Zayn finally. Harry shrugs his shoulders. He is not really sure how the ebb and flow of his heat works. Since afterall, he’s only had one other to compare it to. He’s about to open his mouth to postulate but then Zayn is pushing him against the door and a thigh is between his legs.

 

…

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk much too much?” Zayn asks, before biting softly down on the juncture between Harry’s neck and his shoulder. It’s more of a nibble really. His fangs are not even out. Harry shivers in anticipation sending a thrill of excitement down Zayns’ spine. Sometimes Zayn has wondered what it would have been like to have been with a person when he was human. He had once lain with a girl in his village, when he was sixteen. But she was a passing fling, she had told him he was silly and small and it was really more embarrassing than anything. He felt like he had always been missing out on something as a vampire, food being obvious, but the warm feeling when he used to hug his mum and sisters? He wanted to know what it would have been like to hold a lover in his arms. Would it feel like anything?

 

“Do you have a bed or are we going to do it in your coffin?” Harry asks in between pants.

 

Zayn almost laughs. Instead he throws Harry over his shoulder like a sack of flour and carries him through the house to his ‘bedroom’. Zayn casually tosses Harry onto his bed. He circles the bed predatorily. Harry takes his bandana, head scarf, whatever it is, off and flings it with a flick of his wrist across the room. It hangs off the edge of a lamp, dimming it. Zayn shakes his head and toes out of his shoes. Harry gives his best come hither look at which Zayn snorts rather loudly. But his knees sink into the edge of the mattress. Harry murmurs something that sounds like improvement before Zayn’s lips find his again. Their kiss is heated and biting. But Zayn’s teeth as still blunt as he had promised. Harry groans and buck his hips into the air. Zayn is still not touching him, just their lips play in a vicious game. Harry reaches a hand up towards Zayn, but Zayn has got his wrist pinned against the bed. Instead Harry spreads his legs and Zayn feels himself being pulled forward untill their pelvises are aligned flush.

 

…

  
Zayn rocks his hips forward gently. His cock is swollen, pressing against the zipper. The friction of it against the were’s erection is incredible. As is the whine that comes out of the were’s mouth. It is like that of a pitiful pup. Zayn is surprised by how much it turns him on.

 

“I thought you said you were going to fuck me,” Harry says petulantly, as Zayn laves at his collar bone. Zayn rolls his eyes and continues his ministrations, completely ignoring the were's complaints. Zayn's just marking his territory for later. He sucks a hickey into the side of Harry's neck, close to his jugular vein. It takes all his self control to not sink his teeth in and feed. The blood is so close, and yet the feel of Harry bucking his clothed erection into him is alarmingly distracting. He sits up for a moment and throws his shirt into the corner. Harry's eye widen, appraising, he reaches his hands up to touch. But Zayn bats them away in favor of ripping Harry's shirt off.

 

"Are you serious! That's one of my--" exclaims Harry. But Zayn has also managed to get Harry's cock free and has taken the tip into his mouth, effectively shutting Harry up. He sucks the length in until his nose is pressed against Harry’s pubic area. It’s hairless. Zayn smirks as best he can around the cock in his mouth. The weight of it feels comfortable on his tongue. The way it stretches his mouth to a near burn. The slight ache in the right side of his jaw. The smell and feel of the blood rushing under a few layers of sensitive skin. And the taste. For someone who hasn’t tasted much in nearly 150 years, it sets his taste buds alight. It is every meal, every wine that Zayn has not been able to consume.

 

…

  
Harry’s body feels like it has been doused in gasoline and set on fire. He is burning all over from the tips of his fingers to the balls of his feet. A fever that refuses to abate. His eyes are squeezed shut, he’s afraid it will be overwhelming to observe in addition to feeling the suction around his dick, Zayn’s wicked tongue put to good use. He inadvertently bucks up, the tip of his cock touching the back of Zayn’s throat. But instead of gagging or pulling off, Zayn hums in encouragement. And soon there is the blunt head of a finger circling his hole. He tenses at first, but relaxes. There is little burn when Zayn’s finger has breached him up to the knuckle. He takes it in. And soon he can only see white. The slight pressure of Zayn’s fingers on his prostate, the wet heat of Zayn’s mouth. He sees black pinpricks when he comes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be more history! Then back to the present in the next next one.


	4. A Quarter Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go.

_24 moons ago._

 

“I’m going out, alright? I’ll be back later,” Harry calls as he slams the front door of his house. No one’s home right now anyways. His mum is off on a date again. Now that Harry’s old enough to stay home alone she’s really thrown herself headfirst back into dating. Not that she didn’t date before. But Harry supposes it’s less frightening to tell potential boyfriends that she’s got a sixteen year old son rather than a young son. Harry reckons its because they’re probably thinking he’s not going to be around by the time it gets real serious. Even if they think that far ahead, he’s not really sure. Gemma’s off at uni now, so now it’s just him most nights. Sort of a lonely business, especially in the summer time. So he usually goes out.

 

One day he even managed to wander all the way to Leeds just on public transport. Of course, he hadn’t realized where he had been going. Leeds was boring as all shite. And it took him nearly six hours to get back to Manchester. He missed the bus a couple of times after all. It’s rather boring this summer. Mostly since Barbara at the bakery pulled a few back muscles, so the shop’s only open three days a week now. The other four days leaves Harry with nothing much to do.

 

But this afternoon he finds himself all the way in Wolverhampton. Which he’s never heard of before really. He’s quite rubbish at British geography. Any geography really. Not got a sense for that sort of directional, spatial temporal mapping thing one bit. Once one of Gemma’s college mates had a party here celebrating their A-levels. They were werewolf hunting or something incredibly stupid. Harry of course wasn’t invited. But he heard all about it for days. How some of Gemma’s friends got super spooked and ran off in the middle of the tour. They were probably drunk.

 

Anyways, he feels a bit daft. He doesn’t know anyone here and his phone’s just died. Which sucks because it’s getting dark out and he’s in the middle of some fucking field. He really needs to ask his mum for a new phone. He is expecting he’ll get one when he graduates college, and before he goes to uni. That’s when Gemma got her shiny new phone after all.

 

He sees blinking headlights in the distance. Maybe he can ask for direction and how to get to the closest bus station. Or he could hitchhike. He doesn’t look threatening at all. He’s got a curly ‘fro as Gemma puts it, not so kindly. She likes to say his hair looks rather like a dirty cotton bud if she’s feeling especially mean. All in all completely nonthreatening though. Stupid even. The car, it’s actually more of a rusty old jeep, or some car sort of similar, comes to a halt. The driver rolls down the window. Harry really can’t make out their face. It’s obscured in shadow. He swallows and gives a small wave.

 

“Whatcha doing out here, boy? Don’t you know it’s dangerous out here at night?” says a gruff voice. The man it belongs too is as rough as his voice. He has a thick beard and a hat that obscures most of his facial features. Harry swears he sees the person’s eyes flash for a moment.

 

“I got lost. Was wondering if you might be able to give me a lift back to town or something? I’m not sure which way town is to be honest. I’m not from around here.” Harry scratched the back of his head sheepishly. He felt proper stupid now. Also the man is not exactly the most friendly looking guy in the world.

 

The man doesn’t say anything for a moment. He frowns, at least Harry thinks he does. He can’t really tell with the beard and all. The man lets out a long groan. Harry shivers, the temperature has dropped considerably in the last few minutes it seems. He tries to make a puppy dog face. Bottom lip out, eyes wide.

 

“I could tell as much. Look boy, I don’t normally do this. But there have been some livestock gone missing in the area. They think there’s been some sort of predator around or something. Better safe than sorry.”

  
“I don’t mean to trouble you. It’s just that my phone died and...I just don’t have any clue where to go.” The man side eyes him and then sighs finally.

 

“Get in the front. I’ve got to drop something off down the road. And then I’ll take you to the bus station. How’s that sound?”  Harry nods dumbly and gets into the front passenger seat. He buckles his seatbelt. The car smells something awful. Harry turns to look at the back seat quickly. There’s a someone sleeping under a blanket. Or there’s a body shaped lump in the backseat. Harry holds his breath. The guy isn’t very talkative anyway. It seems like forever until they pull up into a driveway. Harry can see a warm glow of lights in house windows a few hundred meters in front of them.

 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t leave the car,” says the man in a hushed voice. The engine splutters to a stop. The man turns the car off and pulls his key out of ignition. Harry nods and grips the sides of the chair. The man gives him a long stare before turning out of the car and slamming the door shut. He hears the trunk open and then slam shut. The man walks away with a shotgun slung over his shoulder. What in the hell. Who even has the licenses for those kinds of guns? He doesn’t even know if that shit is legal. Curiosity getting the best of him, Harry whips his body around to the back seat and rips the blanket off the figure. Underneath is a large wolf. Wrapped in some sort of twine or a vine, he can’t really tell. It’s foul smelling. Even worse than the stench that lingered in the car beforehand. And that’s when he realizes that the it is only the front half of the wolf. The body has been severed at the waist. There’s no blood or anything. It looks like a clean cut. It’s disgusting and gives off a putrid sort of stench though. The eyes are open and glassy. They are a milky, blue color. Harry’s clamps a hand over his nose and rolls down the window, drawing in deep breaths. The air has gotten cooler. The orange glow of the setting sun is all gone now.

 

A few minutes later the man still hasn’t returned. There hasn’t been any gun shots (thankfully), nothing. Eerily quiet in fact. Harry’s starting to get a little worried. Even though he is cold, he begins to sweat in his underarms. There’s no where to go. No one to call. He can’t drive very well. Besides, the man took his keys with him. He is a sitting duck. Plus there’s fucking half an animal carcass in the back seat. The smell of course only seems to be getting worse by the minute. Steeling himself for a moment, Harry opens the glove compartment. Maybe there’s flashlight, or a gun god forbid. A phone. Anything at this point. His stomach growls, he is kind of hungry anyways. God damn, his mum is going to be so fucking angry at him, he thinks. That’s if he even manages to figure out where the hell in Britain he even is.

 

After digging around in the dark for a while, he manages to find something. It is a flashlight. Then he hears a series of gunshots. But no screams, no pleas. Total silence. Is he safe in the car? Hell no. If the gas tank gets shot, he’ll surely die. So adrenaline fueled, he leaps out of the car. His lungs feel tight as he pumps his legs. Back towards the road. Back towards the road. He is worried since he is running out in the open. There is nowhere to hide. He’ll surely get shot right in the back. He takes a shortcut through a dense wooded area. What if the guy he was hitchhiking with is a serial killer? Harry runs and runs until he is out of breath and panting. He sits down on the forest floor, pressing his back against a large tree. His heart is hammering in his chest. He attempts to quiet down as he hears the sound of cracking branches behind him. He holds his breath. The crunching is getting louder and closer.

 

Harry is not super religious. Never has been. But he’s starts praying. He holds the stupid cross he wears around his neck between his thumb and forefinger. Running over the slightly raised crucified form of Jesus with the pad of his finger. He wills his heart rate to slow. Breathing to relax.

 

And then a wolf walks out into the clearing before him. It casts a shadow much larger than itself, illuminated by the moonlight peering through the trees. It’s not dissimilar to the one in the car. Similar markings, slightly smaller in size. But this wolf has dark brown eyes. They look sad almost. There is a slash across its chest. Wide but relatively shallow. It almost looks like a bullet grazed at an odd angle, wrenching the flesh open. Harry pushes his body further into the tree, hoping it might absorb him by some power. He prays the wolf is not hungry. He does not even know if wolves eat humans. Probably not, but he’s never been this afraid in his life.

 

The wolf bares its teeth at Harry. They gleam a bright white in the light given off by the crescent moon. The wolf doesn’t growl or make any noise. It stalks closer to Harry, sniffing, curious. It noses at Harry’s leg. Harry looks down, he’s bleeding. He must have caught himself on a branch or something. It doesn’t hurt until Harry looks at it. Dark blood has seeped through his sock. He rolls the sock off. It’s not very deep. The wolf licks at the wound. Harry snaps his leg away. Can rabies be conferred by saliva into open wounds. Apparently the wolf is not a fan of this. The wolf growls this time, its teeth look really sharp. Harry closes his eyes.

 

He wakes up facedown in a field. A mouthful of straw grass. It’s brown and tastes like ash in his mouth. There’s a boy, maybe around ten years old, poking at him with a toy truck. He feels surprisingly amazing. There’s dry crusted blood all over his sock, but the wound has disappeared. Also, he’s not wearing any shoes. And the soles of his socks are worn through. More like short leg warmers now. He expected his mouth to feel more cottony and disgusting, but it doesn’t. There’s a buzzing noise all around him. It’s loud and overwhelming.

 

“Where am I?” he asks the boy. The boy looks at him suspiciously.

 

“You’re in Holmes Chapel. Duh. You’re Harry Styles aren’t you? My older sister is in your year at college I think…Do you know her?” the boy mumbles, looking at his truck.

 

“Yeah, that’s me. I prolly do know her,” he says. The boy nods and then scratches at his head with his toy truck. Harry is as puzzled as the boy looks. 

 

“You’ve been gone for nearly four days now I think. Everyone’s been wondering where you’d gone,” says the boy, “Barbara's been calling your house like crazy. No one's picking up. You look like total shite as well...Has anyone ever told you, you’ve got some serious arm hair.”

 

Harry looks down at his arm. There’s nearly quadruple the amount of hair there. It looks like glued a shag carpet to the tops of his arms. He rubs at it with his hands, but it doesn’t go away. “I’ve no clue how that got there? Super glue?” he cracks a smile, while internally screeching. What the fuck. He rubs at it again and it recedes into his skin as if it was never even there. He blinks a couple times, there’s nothing but the regular sprinkling of brown hair on his arm now.

  
When he gets home, of course, his mum is not home. He’s not really surprised though. He finds a note dated the night he left saying that she went on a quick trip to Spain, but she’ll be back in a week. He shakes his head. He pours himself out a glass of orange juice and drains it. It’s refreshing, even though he didn’t feel too tired before. He pads through the house. The hardwood floors creak under him. The noises sound louder, amplified. He rubs at his ears. But the creaking noises don’t stop. Finally he lays down on the sofa, face first. There’s a prickling feeling at the back of his neck. Like he’s being watched. Something is not right. That’s when he notices that he’s not alone. He sees a pair of brown eyes. The same dark ones. But they belong to a person. There is a shadowy figure standing next to the television. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigh, so I borrowed some stuff from TW I'm sure you can spot it. :)
> 
> Next chapter back to Zarry smut.


	5. The Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn fucks then feeds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to finish this baby before the year ends.

Harry arches his back into the gentle hand traveling up and down his spine. It feels like flames licking at the skin following the path of Zayn’s hand. The contrast in temperature between the vamp and him are even more apparent now. The cool is such a relief, a brief respite from the constant nag, his need to be satiated. A mouth trails behind the carress. The roughness of Zayn’s stubble on the delicate skin of his back makes Harry cant his hips up further. Two of Zayn’s fingers circle his entrance, light and teasing.

 

“You want me to lick you?” asks Zayn, his voice rough. His lips are brushing against Harry’s ear. It sounds absolutely filthy. Harry can’t help but make an unintelligible whine. He pushes back into Zayn’s cool, almost icy body. Zayn flips him onto his stomach with ease. The friction of his cock, now hardening and full again, is delicious. He bucks his hips forward, they are moving of their own accord. Zayn’s touch, a gentle hand on his back, is an oasis compared to the all consuming burning, the heat. He feels the cool skim down his backside, and then rough hands massage at his buttocks. He shivers in anticipation.

 

Then there’s a cool tongue lapping at his perineum, teasing around his hole. It’s like a fever dream. Harry can’t tell if the noises he’s making are his or imaginary if Zayn is really tonguing him full force or if he’s just having a wet dream. A really wet dream. Harry’s skin is feverish and slick with sweat. He feels a tightening in his gut and he cries out as he comes all over his stomach and makes a mess of the bedspread. Not that Zayn sleeps, is the thought lingering in his mind. But he can’t think straight for that much longer before his brain becomes a hot, disorganized mess again.

 

…

 

Zayn has never been much of a generous lover. Not since he Perrie, really. That hag. He still gets bitter just thinking about her. Her pale skin and bleach blonde hair that was occasionally violet. He focuses back in on the task. That’s certainly a surefire way to lose his erection. His tongue is buried in Harry’s arse. It’s strangely sweet, and his hole is self-lubricating. It sends a thrill of excitement through Zayn, straight to his own weeping cock. He’s pretty sure Harry has come again, since there is a moment of stillness that overtakes the were.

 

“You good?” Zayn asks before wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. It’s really wet. Harry nods, his curls and long hair jostling. Something in Zayn’s gut tingles, the sort of empathetic part of him that he thought had died long ago. It’s uncomfortable.

 

"Just fuck me already," Harry whines, his voice is full and throaty. Zayn is relieved to hear the words. Harry is shivering uncontrollably, his entire body covered by a sheen of shimmering sweat. The muscles are quivering, tensing and untensing beneath Harry’s near translucent looking skin. Zayn has never seen something so beautiful in his life. Zayn cautiously places a hand against the shivering were. Harry presses into Zayn's touch constantly making these pitiful noises. His arse is lifted up in the air. As if Zayn’s cooler temperature will somehow work its way into his loosened hole. Zayn smacks the flesh of Harry's arse and is pleasantly surprised when the were lets out a blood curdling howl. It should be terrifying really. But it turns Zayn on more than he can imagine.

 

He sticks a finger into Harry's arse, it's so wet that it easily goes in. Then another and soon after a third. Harry's muttering and crying and his claws are out and then they are retreating. Zayn just hopes he doesn't tear the sheets to shreds.

 

...

 

Harry knows he's gone. Beyond reason, his heat has consumed his last inch of humanity. He hates it. The uncontrollable and insatiable need, and the fire that cannot be damped. Not ever until the flames have been extinguished by the passage of time. It is like he is not even inside himself any longer. He's hovering just above the skin. The feelings are intense but it's detached. It isn't him writhing on the bed, it's his wolf. It's not him begging the vampire he just met to fuck him into an oblivion. It's his wolf.

 

His wolf growls inside him, happily, as Zayn sinks into Harry's body, excruciatingly slowly. Harry welcomes it, or his arsehole does, greedily wanting more until Zayn's balls rest against Harry's buttocks. The coolness of Zayn's skin is like getting into a lukewarm bath. It's radiating wherever the skin touches and also coming from inside him. Harry has never had sex with someone who was technically dead before.

 

Zayn’s finger brush against his prostate and Harry sees white, or nothing at all. He’s not even sure anymore. He thinks he comes again, but it almost hurts, wrenching out of him and onto the sheets. There’s another finger joining the first one and Harry lets out an embarrassingly long and high pitched whine.

 

The thrusting begins, and Harry is so turned around. He does not know what is up or down and he can't tell if he is being fucked or fucking someone, it's blurry and he's warm and cold all over. Shivering and sweating and being taken apart with no hope of being but back together. There is just no way. His vision blurs, everything is monochrome, and then red, all Harry can see is blood red, the color of blood and he wonders if this, laying with a vamp when he was in heat, was all some huge mistake. But then any protest or words die on his tongue as they simultaneously come, a cool spray of his insides, and there are sharp incisors against the side of Harry's neck.

 

...

 

Zayn has been holding back the urge to suck Harry dry. If fucking him was not sweet enough, the feel of his blood rushing under the skin, Harry’s erratic heartbeat. It was similar of that of a small animal, pulsing rapidly, pushing blood from his heart outwards into his limbs. Zayn is a predator, not a lover, he wants to feed. And sometimes he wants to kill. Wrench the life out of his victim, drain them completely. He never usually does. Except for that one time many years ago. Irregardless, he's given up hope for his humanity long ago. He keeps his baser urges at bay. Zayn has seen what happens to exposed vampires. He'd prefer to spend the rest of eternity with his body intact.

 

His fangs are poised, hovering right above Harry's jugular vein. But he seeks permission anyways. Gently scraping them, not hard enough to break the skin. And Harry flinches under him. He turns slightly and sees Harry's eyes are a bright golden yellow, his face morphed into something not human. It's terrifyingly beautiful, and Zayn can't look away. Mesmerized,  Zayn reaches a hand out to touch, but Harry snaps his face away, hiding it in his palms.

 

"Don't look!" comes the weak plea. Harry's voice is broken and meek. Zayn snaps away. He smells fear which was unappetizing for one. But it is also mixed with shame. Was this were...had Harry not let go of his humanity yet? Zayn supposes he has no idea when the boy was turned. But still, Harry clearly has not come around out of his heat. He’s shivering still. And Harry finally croaks, voice steely,"Just do it already, before I go through another cycle. Please."

 

And so Zayn does. The skin breaks easily and it's more than Zayn could have ever imagined. Harry's moaning or groaning, his body tremoring minutely. His shoulders are nearly vibrating, all the tension being released. Zayn thinks that blood has never tasted this good, fresh and virile. And it makes him feel whole if only for a moment. It makes him feel something. Anything was better than before. The continual ache, the hunger always unfulfilled.

 

…

 

The heat has receded some amount, Harry had come nearly five times at this point. His ejaculations were mostly clear, pitiful amounts of fluid. But the feeling of Zayn’s incisors inside him, drawing from his vein, his vulnerability, seemed so much more intimate than their previous sex. Zayn is still feeding, silent as ever, bar the occasional groan which makes Harry’s erection stir.

  
It’s more enjoyable than Harry would have imagined. Surrendering his control. Putting his life into the hands of a stranger. He knows Zayn could easily take him, kill him, drink him dry. Take his head off and keep it as a prize. Or worse. He’s heard horror stories of vampires taking advantage of werewolves and their supposedly magical blood. Chaining them up in a cell and feeding on them as often as they please. Since the blood is replenished much faster than a regular human, it’s like a constant supply of doped up blood. Plus werewolves are quite difficult to kill. Harry knows all of this and yet he can’t help but sigh. He would welcome death if it were to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Sorry for such a long hiatus. I've been a busy woman. Come play with me [ on tumblr ](prettymuchjustsomestuff.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> TBC but not regularly. More of a drabbly non linear story.


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